


What Happens in Vegas

by sgamadison



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Only sometimes it doesn't.





	What Happens in Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Romancing McShep fest. Inspired by _Lick_ by Kylie Scott
> 
> Sorry, a bit out of practice here.

 

Rodney rolled over with a groan. Nausea roiled within, but he didn’t know whether to clutch his stomach or grab his head, which felt like it might explode. His eyelids seemed glued shut, and he opened them cautiously, afraid he might tear a cornea in the process.

Only one of his eyes would open. A wave of panic drove the bile up his throat but he swallowed hard when he realized half his face was mashed into a gleaming tiled floor. That’s why he could only see out of one eye. Lifting his head proved to be a mistake, however, and he whimpered as some unseen hand closed a vise against his temples.

For some reason, he appeared to be curled around the base of a toilet in a bathroom where the lights were far, far too bright.

“You okay?” The soft drawl from behind him made Rodney jump.

Pressing several fingers to his brow, Rodney winced as he tried to see who had spoken. His gaze landed on black army boots first, noting how they belonged to legs crossed at the ankle. He followed those legs upward, encased in black jeans that had a bit of a sheen to them, almost like leather. Impossibly long legs, that went up to a narrow waist and slim hips, one of which rested negligently against the door frame.

_Hello._

The rigid outline of a cock was clearly evident pushing up against the fly, and look, this guy dressed to the left.

This guy was also shirtless.

His jeans sat so low that hipbones peeked out from the waistband. A narrow line of dark hair obligingly pointed to the happy cock, but in the reverse direction led up a well-muscled chest, widening as it approached nice shoulders, everything not too over-done in the manner of some body-builders, but just right. Lean. A runner, not a football player. Exactly the body type Rodney preferred—on men, at any rate.

Even his collarbones looked delectable.

Slowly Rodney continued his upward inspection until he came to rest on the guy’s face.

_Wow. Oh, wow._

Messy dark hair, some of which fell forward over muddy green eyes. Heavy stubble outlining his mouth and shadowing his jaw. Plump lips that looked kiss-swollen. A slightly worried lift to one eyebrow. It was an odd combination of features that somehow coalesced into one of the hottest human beings Rodney had ever seen in his life.

Rodney licked lips that were unaccountably chapped, and swallowed painfully. Trolls must have camped out in his mouth overnight, because it felt as though someone had left a pile of unwashed socks there, and though he worked his tongue, no words came out.

“Rodney? You okay?”

Rodney cast a glance around the room as he pushed himself slowly to his knees. Where was he? How did he get here? He seemed to be in the Taj Mahal of bathrooms. Was that a Jacuzzi? Yes. How the hell had he ended up in a bathroom fit for a prince?

Wait. It was coming back to him in bits and pieces. The breakthrough at Cheyenne Mountain. The decision to go with the funny Czech guy and Bill Lee on a much-needed long weekend leave from the program.

But where were Zathros and Lee? Okay, he was pretty sure the Czech’s name wasn’t Zathros, but it was _something_ that began with a Z. If only his head didn’t hurt so much.

Vegas. He was starting to have a bad feeling about this.

Looking down at his shirt, he felt slightly relieved to see he was still wearing the short-sleeved polo he’d had on the day before. The sour smell of puke wafted up to him from the stain down the front, however, and the knees of his khakis were decidedly worse for wear. What the hell had he been doing? It was all a blank.

Rodney’s gaze came to rest on a shiny band around the fourth finger of his left hand. He held his hand up to his face, his eyes bugging painfully as he stared at it. “What is this?” He pushed the words past his lips in a hoarse croak.

The eyebrow hitched up a notch in what looked like annoyance. Or maybe the other eyebrow pulled down, and so it only _looked_ like the guy had arched the first one higher. Either way, the narrowing of those hazel eyes and the tightening of those imminently kissable lips came across as irritation. In response, the guy held up his own left hand, which bore a matching band.

“What does it look like? We got married last night.”

Rodney promptly threw up.

***

_Eighteen hours earlier_

“I’m not so sure about this.” Bill Lee glanced up and down the Vegas strip.

They’d just checked in to Circus Circus, which was one of the cheaper motels around. The atmosphere inside was horrible—like a giant video game arcade—but then Rodney wasn’t planning to spend much time there. The air outside was like wearing a wet blanket, but at least there wasn’t a bell ringing every five seconds. Between the flashing lights and the constant celebratory chimes, it was enough to trigger a seizure.

“Just remember to stick to the plan.” Zelenka pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It was either a nervous tic or he needed a new pair. Probably both.

“The house always has the advantage. Stay away from roulette. Concentrate on blackjack. Take another card on anything lower than thirteen.” Lee nodded solemnly, as though quoting from the Bible.

“For heaven’s sake, put that _How to Win at Blackjack_ book out of sight. Do you want them to throw you out before you even get started?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Besides, you can be sure they’re going to get wise to you if you try counting cards. If you do hit a winning streak, be sure to lose every now and then. The dealers get squiffy if you win a lot.”

“Dr. McKay has a good point.” Zorkoff nodded.

“What did I say about titles? We’re supposed to be incognito, remember? No one’s a brilliant astrophysicist working on a super-secret project in Colorado.” Rodney puffed his chest out a little. “At least part of that will be easy enough for you guys to remember.”

Lee frowned at him, still working out which part. But Zelansky narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. Moving right along. “Anyway, have fun in the casinos, boys. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

The lenses of Z’s glasses caught the sun when he tipped his head. “Bigger than gambling? I thought that was why one came to Vegas.”

“Among other things.” Lee fanned himself with his blackjack book. “The food’s fantastic and the floor shows are amazing. It’s why air fare and hotels are so cheap. They want you to come and spend your money.”

The buffets _were_ amazing, but that could wait until Rodney had satisfied other appetites. “Be that as it may, I’m here for one thing only. I’m going to get laid.”

Zelasnoff and Lee boggled at him. It was almost amusing, the manner in which they both dropped their mouths to stare. It was a little insulting too. “What? Think about it. Now that we’ve figured out the you-know-what—” Rodney glanced to either side to make sure no one was paying any attention to them before going on, “—we’ll be off to Antarctica for months. And then, if the mission is approved, we’ll be traveling even farther away. The pool of people to choose from will be _very_ small and we’ll be working our asses off. I’m going to get some action while I can.”

No one was paying attention to them. The three of them looked like typical conventioneers in town for the weekend, more’s the pity. They could be optometrists or dentists. No one would be the wiser.

And that wouldn’t get Rodney the kind of action he desired. He patted his pocket for his hotel key. “Don’t wait up for me, guys. And don’t get worried unless I don’t make it back in time to go to the airport tomorrow.”

Frowning, he felt something hard in one of his pockets. He fished it out, his heart sinking in dismay as he stared at the small blue crystalline object.

Zelenka gasped. “What are you doing with that? You shouldn’t have brought it out of the SGC!”

Rodney shoved it back into his pocket, and hastened to absolve himself from any critical wrongdoing. “I forgot it was there.” Thank goodness it hadn’t triggered any alarms during airport security. “It’s no big deal. I’ll put it back tomorrow and no one will be the wiser. It’s not like anyone’s been able to turn it on anyway.”

“We have no idea what it does. If someone—”

“What are the odds we'll run into someone with a strong enough ATA gene to activate it?” Rodney snapped, unnerved by his own mistake. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

***

The hottest guy on Earth straightened out of his lean and folded his incredibly nice arms over his chest to glare at Rodney. “You don’t remember last night, do you?”

Rodney wiped his mouth and wished he could die. A clammy sweat broke out on his forehead. What in God’s name had he drunk last night? “Um, it might be a little blurry.”

A steel door shut down on the hot guy’s face, even though very little seemed to change in his expression. It was more a hardening of features than anything else. Rodney envied him his self-containment. Everything was there on Rodney’s face for the world to see all the time.

Whatever this guy saw now, he didn’t like it.

“What do you remember?”

“Give me a moment, will you?” Rodney pushed himself back from the toilet. “I’m not my best before coffee.”

A faint smile twitched across the hot guy’s face, almost like an electrical impulse. “So you’ve said.”

Panic squeezed Rodney’s chest much in the way he imagined his inevitable heart attack would feel. “What else did I say? OMG, please tell me I didn’t spill my guts about working for a classified government agency with incredibly powerful technology or anything like that?”

The arms unfolded and dropped to the guy’s sides. Any sense of amused tolerance was now gone. “Not until just now.”

Rodney groaned and clutched his skull. “Oh God. Please don’t repeat that to anyone else.”

A kind of half-smile appeared, definitely more pronounced than the ghost one from before. A bit of a lift to one corner of his mouth that was utterly charming. “You know what they say about what happens in Vegas.”

The words should have been reassuring, but instead, a kind of horror set in. Rodney was on the floor of a bathroom nicer than most of the apartments he’d ever lived in, with the sexiest man he’d ever laid eyes on staring down at him. Wearing his wedding ring. Platinum if Rodney was any judge.“What have I done? I don’t normally drink!”

Though the rest of his expression didn’t change, the hazel eyes snapped with anger. “You didn’t seem that drunk to me. And you said you liked beer. A _lot_.”

“Beer doesn’t count!” Rodney tried shaking his head and immediately regretted it. “What did I have last night? Whiskey? Bourbon?”

“Tequila. But no lime. Because you’re allergic.” If eyebrows could be said to be sarcastic, the lift on this one met all the criteria. “You wanted to do shooters.”

“OMG. Someone kill me now.” Rodney hung his head. “I’ve never gotten blackout drunk before. Hell, I barely have gone past amusingly tipsy. Do you know how many brain cells I murdered last night?” He pointed at his temple. “These brains are _important_ , mister.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The drawl was gone. The voice now was clipped, precise. “We’ll get an annulment. My lawyers will be in touch.” The hot guy was already turning away, moving into the other room.

“Wait.” Rodney struggled to his feet. “I’m really sorry about this, okay? This isn’t like me.”

“Yeah.” Whatever iron self-control this guy had, it was firmly in place now. “I’m getting that now.”

Smoldering anger, Rodney could understand. But there was something else in his eyes as well. Something that looked a bit like… hurt.

When the hot stranger—oh hell, his _husband_ —spoke again, the edge to his voice could have cut glass. “I’m headed out. The room’s paid for.”

“Wait.” Rodney held out his hand to stop him. “At least tell me your name.”

His mouth tightened, then stretched into a parody of a smile. “Check your ass.”

“My ass?” Rodney twisted around to peer down at his khaki-covered butt. Come to think of it, his ass was itching a bit. “What are you talking about?”

When Rodney looked up, the other guy was gone. With a sinking realization his day was about to get even worse, Rodney dropped his pants. No underwear. Where had that gone? He backed up to the mirror on the door to the bathroom and gasped at what he saw.

On his left butt cheek, in fresh ink, the words “John & Rodney forever” and a series of floating hearts were tattooed on his ass.

***

By the time he’d re-dressed, there was no sign of the other guy in the hotel room. The room itself proved to be a luxury suite in the Bellagio with a view of the Strip. Rodney had priced rooms at the various hotels when searching for a discounted rate for the weekend. This room must run over $800 a night. Who _was_ this John character? A gambler with a lucky streak? It didn’t really matter, but the sumptuousness of the room went along with John’s hotness and the revelation of the marriage—all of it too fantastic to be believed.

The tatt on his ass wasn’t much to go on. John was pretty common name after all. Rodney could have walked out of the hotel without anyone being the wiser, and given his disheveled state, that was his first choice, but curiosity made him pause at the desk.

The concierge patently ignored Rodney until he cleared his throat. When the man finally looked up from behind his desk, his nostrils flared as though he’d smelled something foul. Rodney reddened but blustered on with the creative lie he’d come up with in the elevator on his way to the lobby. “I came with a party to the executive suite last night. I’m afraid our host left this morning before I could thank him for his hospitality.”

“Yes?” The concierge tilted his head back, all the better for looking down his nose at Rodney, presumably.

“And I would like to thank him.” Rodney’s innate testiness bubbled to the surface, despite the pounding headache. “I’d like to leave John a note, if I may.”

Maybe it was the use of the first name. Or maybe it was mention of the executive suite. Either way, the concierge became more accommodating, sliding a pad and pen toward Rodney. “I’ll see that Mr. Sheppard gets your message.”

Sheppard. Rodney was surprised the surname wasn’t something Celtic because John had ‘Black Irish’ stamped all over him. But then again, Sheppard suited him as well. The origin of the name could mean the obvious—a shepherd—but it could also denote a watchman or a guardian.

Rodney could picture this guy in that role somehow.

He scrawled a brief note, reiterating his apology, signing his full name. After a moment’s hesitation, he added his room number at Circus Circus, and then his personal cell number on the off chance John might want to find him for some reason—any reason—before Rodney went back to Colorado. At any rate, John would need Rodney’s number to arrange the annulment, right?

Then again, John appeared to have more memories of the night before than Rodney did. Which really sucked, given that Rodney had tucked three condoms in his wallet the night before and all of them were gone. Figures. The one time he really hit the jackpot, and he couldn’t remember any of the details.

The worst part though was Rodney couldn’t recall the last time he’d done anything this stupid. Yes, he’d made mistakes in his work. He’d even alienated colleagues and people in power over his projects and funding. But he’d never done anything so inherently reckless or patently juvenile before.

_It will be okay._

If he said it enough he might start believing it. But seriously, it was almost like a dream—one that was just out of reach of memory when you woke but you suspected was pretty good.

No, really. Everything would be fine. He didn’t have to tell anyone what had happened. He’d get back on the plane with Zelenka and Lee, fly back to Colorado, and dive back into work. In a few days, he’d get a call from some lawyer and they’d start the proceedings. Heck, if the paperwork took too long, Rodney would wind up in another _galaxy_ and no one would ever know that he’d been monumentally stupid one night in Vegas.

Only that would suck for John if Rodney wasn’t there to finalize the annulment. Assuming John would want to marry someone else one day, that is.

The really weird part was Rodney suspected it would suck for him too. It’s not like he and John knew each other though. Nor was John planning on going to Pegasus with Rodney, so there was no point in wondering any further about how they’d come to be married in the first place.

The rest of the morning passed in a hazy blur as well. His hangover, instead of getting better, seemed to worsen as the day went on. Water and aspirin didn’t help—there was a jackhammer in Rodney’s head that only got stronger as the day went on. The desert heat was enervating in his current state. After he’d dragged himself back to the hotel room at Circus Circus, he almost cried with relief to find the room empty. He was tender in places he hadn’t been in a very long time, and he wanted nothing more than a long, hot shower and some clean clothes. Showering with the new tattoo was tricky, but he managed it. There was no way he was going to ask the hotel if they had some Saran wrap to cover it up. Hopefully he wouldn’t develop a horrible infection or an allergy to the ink.

When Zelenka and Lee finally showed up, he was feeling slightly more human. He’d managed to drink a full sixteen ounces of Sprite and eat some toast. As he sat in clean clothes with his damp hair slicked down, he nursed his third cup of coffee and wondered vaguely if the fluttering in his chest was due to skyrocketing blood pressure.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Lee made a playful motion in Rodney’s direction, but aborted the gesture at his glare.

“Jokes at my expense will neither be appreciated nor tolerated.” Perhaps the hotel gift shop sold sunglasses. He’d need them before venturing outside again. “How much longer before we head to the airport?”

“A couple of hours yet.” Zelenka eyed him carefully. “Are you all right? You don’t look so cool.”

“The phrase is ‘look so hot’,” Rodney snapped.

“That does not make sense.” Zelenka shook his head slowly. “You are sweaty and damp. You _do_ look hot. How can looking hot be the thing you desire when it makes you miserable?”

Lee snapped his fingers and pointed at Zelenka as though he’d made a profound observation.

Rodney wanted to strangle them both.

“Don’t you want to hear about my winnings?” Lee held up a stadium cup full of coins, jingling the contents as he grinned.

“At length,” Rodney said. “Right after I gouge my eyeballs out.”

Zelenka fussed about the room, collecting his belongings and folding them into his suitcase. He came across Rodney’s pants, where they’d been dropped on the floor on route to the shower, and held them up between his index finger and thumb, an air of outraged fastidiousness on his face. He tut-tutted when several key cards fell out of the pocket onto the floor. The key for their current room caused no excitement, but his brows lifted comically as he held up the room key for the luxury suite. He looked like a fluffy little owl as he inspected the card key.

“Oh-ho!” Lee said, in an odious manner.

Rodney jumped up and snatched the Bellagio room key from Zelenka’s hand, ignoring the stab of pain that jolted through his head. “Nothing ‘oh-ho’ about it. I told you what I came here for. Mission accomplished.”

“Way to go, McKay.” Lee held up his hand for a high-five.

Any other time Rodney would have high-fived him back, but his attention was captivated by Zelenka’s patting of his pants pockets.

“The crystal. You have moved it for safe keeping, yes?”

 _Oh. Shit_.

***

“I’m sorry. Mr. Sheppard has checked out. And no, he did not leave a forwarding address.” The concierge was beyond frosty. He was positively frigid.

Rodney was still panting from his mad dash back to the Bellagio. “It’s imperative I speak with him immediately. I left something of critical importance in the suite last night.”

“I do not know how to locate Mr. Sheppard.” The concierge made a slight gesture, and a beefy man in a well-made suit crossed the lobby in Rodney’s direction.

Rodney lunged across the counter to grab at the concierge, who moved back out of reach just in time. “Housekeeping, then. Please! I must get in the room to see if my—thing—is there.”

The concierge’s smile turned nasty as the beefy man grabbed Rodney by the arm and hoisted him up until Rodney was on his tippy-toes. “Mr. Sheppard’s credit card was cancelled. He is no longer a guest here. We cannot help you.”

Rodney was forcibly propelled through the front doors of the hotel. Not tossed out per se, more like frog-marching.

“Don’t come back,” the beefy man said with an air of ‘nothing personal.’

Rodney glanced at his watch. Three hours before he had to meet Zelenka and Lee at the airport. Three hours to locate a man who’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. A man who possibly had an alien artifact in his possession.

Rodney’s husband.

He thumped his fist on his forehead and winced. Too soon for such gestures.

 _Think, McKay. Think_.

A text alert went off on his phone from an unknown number. It only contained a link. Nothing good ever came from something like that, but what choice did he have? Rodney clicked on it, only to find a photograph of himself leaning over a counter, trousers dropped and ass bared for all to see, as a tattoo artist worked. That was bad enough, but Rodney was grinning foolishly at John, who was holding his hand and smiling back at him.

The photo was on the tattoo parlor’s Facebook page. It had over 3 K likes and had been shared over 1.5 K times.

Rodney began to hyperventilate. Before he could respond, another text came in.

**We need to talk. You still in town? If so, meet me in the lobby of the Luxor in 15 minutes.**

Rodney texted back. **On my way. OMG. OMG. How did this happen?**

He hustled down the sidewalk toward the Luxor at the far end of the strip. People seemed to recognize his determination, and parted to let him through. He came to a dead stop when the next text pinged.

**Release form for tatt probably included posting pix. Can see why they did. Nice ass, McKay.**

Okay, so he was not going to preen at the compliment. The heck with typing; he clicked on the microphone and spoke as he half-jogged down the sidewalk.

**Nice? Nice? I’ll have you know that ass is magnificent, buddy. Only I’m not in the habit of sharing it publicly. This could screw me over big time.**

The reply was only one word.

 **Sorry**.

It seemed to take him forever to reach the Luxor. He was so relieved to hit air-conditioning again that the pseudo-Egyptian theme failed to annoy him as much as it should. Scanning the lobby, he spotted John Sheppard lounging against a pillar near the fake statue of Anubis.

The relief he felt on spotting John was all out of proportion with the stakes at hand. He practically ran over to John to clutch him by the arm. Black leather jacket over black T-shirt and jeans. How was the man not dying of heat prostration?

John shot him an odd little glance of assessment, and then suggested they move into the bar.

“No alcohol for me.” Rodney made a warding sign. Never again, as far as he was concerned.

“That’s cool. I just want a quiet place to talk.”

Rodney followed him into the Aurora, and they found a table. Rodney sank into his seat with a heartfelt sigh.

“I’ve talked to the tattoo parlor. They took down the image, but unfortunately, it’s already been shared a bunch of times.”

“No kidding.” Rodney realized he was being ungrateful and hurried on. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I really do work in a sensitive government position. Something like this could get me fired.”

“You’re not the only one it affects. Word of it got back to my dad and he cut me off financially.” John tossed back a handful of cocktail nuts like it was no big deal.

“Crap.” Rodney felt terrible. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The smile John gave him was brittle, brilliant, and brave. “Best night of my life.”

Now Rodney really felt like a heel. “I wish I could remember it. It’s not fair you knowing what happened and me in the dark. At least give me a hint?”

John leaned back on the bench, placing his elbow behind him on the seatback for support. “You told me upfront you were in town for sex and you didn’t care how you got it.”

Rodney passed a palm over his face.

“No, it was cool. I appreciated your candor.” Amusement hovered in John’s voice, soothing Rodney’s nerves.

“So how did we go from no-strings-attached sex to marriage?” Rodney hated to ask but he had to know.

John shrugged slightly. “What can I say? You got to me.”

Time for a reality check. “Seriously? Have you looked in the mirror lately? I have my pluses but I’m not an idiot. You’re out of my league.”

The tip of John’s tongue made a brief appearance as it passed over his lips, and Rodney’s cock stirred—though in current appreciation or memory he had no idea.

“I hear that a lot, you know. How hot I am. How much people want to be with me. After a while, you realize how meaningless it is. That when people say they want you, they only mean for the night. But you made me believe it.” The intensity of John’s gaze trapped Rodney like a fly in amber. “You say I’m out of your league, but you—you’re dazzling. You’re energy and excitement and your enthusiasm is contagious. And when you invited me to run away with you, I thought that’s what you really wanted.”

What he’d done to John was a thousand times worse than what he’d assumed. How could Rodney ever make it up to him? And yet…

“I meant it. I know I did. But in reality, it can never happen. Worst of all, I can’t even explain why it can never happen. I can only say that I must have wanted it very badly to ignore everything I knew to be true.”

“Yeah. I kind of figured that.” John rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“So. Your dad cut you off?” Rodney winced in sympathy.

The door shut on John’s face again. “Not surprising, really. Long story short, I’ve always been a disappointment to him. I guess that’s part of why your offer to run away was so appealing.”

“Part?” He shouldn’t beg for crumbs, and yet he was.

The barest of smile made a brief appearance. “You made it sound so cool. You and me, saving the universe by day. Fucking like rabbits by night.”

Rodney’s cheeks flamed even as his cock lifted in enthusiastic support of the idea.

His text alert went off.

Frowning, he said, “Hang on a second.”

His heart sank into his shoes at the alert on his phone.

**Effective immediately, your security clearance has been canceled. Report to the SGC to turn in your badge.**

“I’ve been fired.”

“Crap. I’m sorry, Rodney.”

He’d been fired. He wouldn’t be part of the Pegasus expedition. He wouldn’t travel to another galaxy, discover things no other scientist would ever see. His work would disappear into the secrecy that surrounded the SGC. He’d get no other jobs in the same field. His career was essentially destroyed.

And yet for once in his life, his concern wasn’t totally for himself. “You said you were a disappointment to your father. Why?”

John cast a look of profound pity at him, if the lift of one eyebrow and the twist of his lips were anything to go by. For someone who was usually obtuse when it came to the people around him, Rodney was getting awfully good at reading John.

“I’ll be fine. This is a bigger deal for you than it is for me. I’ll make it up to you somehow. I promise.” John waved off Rodney’s question with a little shrug.

Two things struck Rodney at the same time: First, his husband probably had as bad a track record at relationships as Rodney did, and second… John meant it. Rodney got the impression John didn’t make promises often but when he did, he kept them.

He wasn’t going to let John feel any worse about this than necessary. “I’ll be fine too. Eventually. I mean, my work was really cool—beyond amazing—but I’ll get job in the private sector. Probably make ten times the money too. Okay, not really. I mean, there’s only so much work out there for astrophysicists, even ones as brilliant as myself.” Belatedly, he realized he was supposed to be making John feel better about the whole mess. “But I’ll be fine.”

John smiled. The muscles in his face moved and his lips shaped the appropriate expression known as a smile, but no one who’d ever used that simple word to describe an action had ever seen John smile. With the barest change in features, his smile somehow conveyed intimacy, amusement, and… _fondness_.

“I bet you were good at it too. Your whole face lit up when you spoke of it, and you got all hand-wavy and excited. It was one of the first things that attracted me to you.”

“Really?” Rodney was absurdly pleased, even if his tone sounded vaguely of ‘tell me more.’

“Oh yeah.” John flicked his fingers in Rodney’s direction with a little nod. “Not that you mentioned last night the whole secret government organization thing.”

“I never used the word ‘secret’.” Despite himself, Rodney glanced around the bar.

“You didn’t have to.” The playful drawl was back. “I used to be Air Force. I can smell a black ops situation from a mile away.”

“You were USAF? How is that possible? Your hair is so—unmilitary.”

John blinked at him a moment and then honest-to-God brayed. Just like a donkey. It made Rodney flush and grin at the same time.

“Okay, for the record, that laugh is the first uncool thing about you I’ve discovered so far.”

John frowned, looking wounded. “What’s wrong with my laugh?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Rodney changed the subject. It was weird to think that if John were still in the Air Force and if Rodney still had a job, they both could have been assigned to the SGC at the same time. Maybe even on the Pegasus expedition. That is, if they weren’t married. “Military, eh? Let me guess. Flyboy.”

A slight shuttering occurred. Okay, something about his past was painful. “We talked about this last night.”

Oh. Rodney had assumed _distant_ past.

“You have no idea how much not remembering last night is killing me. It’s not fair that you remember and I don’t.”

“Funny.” The look on John’s face was anything but amused. “I could have said the same thing.”

“Oh. Right.” Rodney looked down at his hands, only to focus on the platinum band. He twisted it around his finger. In a flash, he saw John’s long fingers sliding the ring over his own and he remembered the feeling of utter rightness in his universe. “We got these at the gift shop in the Bellagio.”

“Yeah.”

A little too little. A little too late.

Rodney twisted off the ring and held it out. “The concierge said your credit card got canceled. You should return this for the cash.”

“Nah.” John was once again the epitome of cool. “They’ll only put it back on the card anyway. I’m going to enjoy picturing my dad’s face when he gets the bill for his-and-his wedding rings.”

“Is that why do did it?” Something died just a little inside Rodney. “To stick it to your father?”

“That didn’t hurt.” John leaned forward to rest his hands on the table between them. “But I did it because of you.”

“Me?” It was hard not to squeak.

“Yeah. You said there was a place we could go. We could run away together. You promised me the universe.”

_Oh. Shit._

“If it is any consolation, I meant it. Even if I was drunk.”

“I know. That’s why I said yes.”

Rodney had to get to the airport. “Look, I have to go. I’ve got a plane to catch. Maybe if I grovel enough—and I point out if everything goes as planned I’ll be far out of reach of tabloids and internet memes—they’ll give me my job back.” He wasn’t holding his breath, but it was worth a try.

“Hey, at least we’ll have Vegas.” The smile was brittle now, put on for show. “Though what do you mean, you’ll be out of reach?”

“Part of that running away thing. Only now that seems unlikely.” He hated to bring it up, but there was no way he could beg for his job without returning to Cheyenne Mountain with the crystalline artifact. “Did I by any chance leave a blue crystal with you?”

No sooner did the words come out of his mouth than he remembered. John had asked about the artifact when Rodney had emptied out his pockets at the wedding chapel look for money to pay the officiant and the crystal had clinked onto the counter. John scooped it up playfully, and the object had glowed brilliantly in his hand.

It had seemed like an omen, even though Rodney didn’t believe in such things. Apparently drunk-Rodney did.

“You have the ATA gene.”

John’s eyebrow quirked into his hairline. “You said that last night too.”

“Seriously. Do you have the artifact or not?” Rodney snapped his fingers imperiously.

John leaned back to fish the artifact out of his far-too-tight jeans pocket and held it up. In the dim lighting of the bar, it twinkled.

Rodney slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table and stood. “Come with me. We have to go to the SGC.”

Normally when Rodney spoke in that tone of voice, minions jumped.

John was no minion. “Is that the only reason you agreed to meet me? You wanted your good luck charm back?” The artifact disappeared as John’s fingers closed around it.

Rodney had never been one to mince words. “I agreed to meet you because I was upset over the photo and I’d have done anything to stop its circulation, but you’ve already taken care of that. I met you here because I felt like crap over the way things went this morning and wished I could have a do-over. I came because I wanted to see you again. And yes, I came to get that artifact back. That was before I’d been fired and after I decided to fight for my job. But seeing it light up for you?” Rodney pressed one hand down on the table and leaned in close over John. “That totally rocked my world. And regardless of whether or not the SGC takes me back, they need to know about _you_.”

“What’s so special about me?” John frowned, still holding the artifact up in a closed fist.

“Everything.” Rodney gave John his best smile. “The best part is, you might even get reinstated in the military, if that sort of thing floats your boat.”

Both of John’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened, only to slump again in seeming disinterest. “Not that it matters, but the whole gay marriage thing lets out reinstatement.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on where we run away to.” Rodney’s grin widened when he saw he had John’s full attention. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Stepping out of the elevator into the lobby with John at his side just felt right in ways Rodney couldn’t explain. Of all the hotels on the Strip, the Luxor was one of the more outlandish, with fantastical homages to ancient Egypt, and a lobby that glittered like King Tut’s tomb on display. The parallels with the Stargate program struck Rodney as amusing, and he grinned as they crossed the huge open space. A massive statue of Anubis sat to one side, and the perimeter was framed with large figures spotlighted from above in the style of Ramses II. Rodney pictured Daniel Jackson having apoplexy at all the historical inaccuracies and chuckled out loud.

“What’s so funny?” John threaded the artifact through his fingers like a magician manipulating a coin.

“I’ll explain later.” Rodney pulled up sharply to stare at a man climbing up the base of one of the statues and reaching for a niche near its foot. “What the—what the hell is _he_ doing here?”

“He who?” John asked, but Rodney was already marching toward the wayward tourist.

“Kavanaugh!” Rodney placed both fists on his hips as he glared up at his colleague. Bad enough Rodney had been fired. Surely General O’Neill hadn’t sent Rodney’s nemesis to humiliate him?

Kavanaugh turned, his ridiculous pony-tail swinging with his movement. His posture was very much that of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but the look in his eyes wasn’t that of a guilty child. The lip that curled could have been Kavanaugh’s typical sneer, but what he withdrew from the hidden panel on the statue was a Goa’uld hand device. Anger blazed back at Rodney, and as Rodney stared, Kavanaugh’s eyes briefly glowed gold.

Rodney couldn’t take his eyes off the man who used to be Kavanaugh, but he could still fear for the safety of the man who mattered most to him. Shoving John sideways, he shouted, “John, _run_!”

The beam from the hand device hit him squarely in the forehead. Bad enough that he already had the hangover to beat all hangovers, now his brains were melting from within. Against his will, he dropped to his knees, his eyes rolling as the Goa’uld within Kavanaugh approached him without mercy.

“My host dislikes you intensely. That makes killing you all the more enjoyable.” The Goa-uld spoke with that odd resonance that marked when the alien cared little for imitating his host. He peeled his lips back in a snarl and pushed his hand forward, willing the device to burn a hole straight through Rodney’s brain.

John charged forward swinging a chair, but the Goa-uld smacked him aside as though he were merely an annoying fly. Another few seconds and Rodney would be nothing but a puddle of gibbering jelly.

From several feet away, John lifted his head. Their eyes met. Rodney could see anguish in John’s face and knew regret that this was how things would end between them.

Unless…

Well, they _were_ in Vegas.

“The artifact,” Rodney rasped out, his vision going gray at the edges. “Picture what it does.”

John shot him a look of frowning intensity, and then held up the artifact to stare at it. The small blue crystal glowed brilliantly, sending beams of light in all directions before transforming itself into a hand-held gun.

Rodney recognized that snake-shaped weapon. It was a freaking Zat.

Before Rodney could grind out the word, John had squeezed the trigger. Blue electricity crackled in a net around Kavanaugh and dropped him to the ground.

The crushing pain from the hand device ceased, and Rodney pitched forward on his hands, only to throw up _again_.

***

“And there you have it.” Rodney was well aware General O’Neill didn’t like him, but damn it, Rodney had saved the day today. That should count for something. “With a little experimentation, we’ve determined the artifact will transform itself into the most useful weapon against whatever foe you’re faced with at the time. With Sheppard’s help, we’ve made more progress in twelve hours with categorizing the Ancient technology than we have in over a year. Fire me if you want, but you _need_ Sheppard. The fact he has military experience should only be a plus when considering him for the Pegasus expedition.”

“I’m familiar with Major Sheppard’s military record.” As usual, O’Neill’s voice was dry. Very dry. “He’s insubordinate. When it comes to the lives of his unit, he’ll disobey orders to save them. He’s an outstanding pilot, a natural tactician, but he’s sure he knows best, even when he’s been told to stand down.”

“Then he’ll fit in just fine around here,” Rodney snapped.

“I happen to think the same,” O’Neill surprised him by saying. “But I can’t reinstate him in the military. Regs are regs, and you two _did_ get married. Chalk it up to a drunken weekend in Vegas, but the brass can’t ignore that.”

“Aside from yourself, he has the strongest ATA gene of anyone we’ve come across. And a natural gift for using it. You’d be insane to leave him behind on the expedition. You have to reinstate him.”

“Not happening.” O’Neill stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But the military option isn’t the only route to Pegasus.”

For the first time, Rodney realized the hand fondling O’Neill’s chin was his left hand. And he wore a ring on his fourth finger.

To Rodney’s knowledge, O’Neill wasn’t married. Or was he?

“My understanding is a consulting position pays a lot more than a military one. Though how you’re going to spend your paycheck in Pegasus is beyond me. Still, it might be a good idea to pair geeks with someone who knows their way around a P-90. It never hurts to have a go-between for the grunts and the geeks anyway.”

“Wait. Are you saying…?”

O’Neill sighed as though this job were too much for him. Resting his chin in his left hand, he said, “You got drunk and pulled some stupid stuff, McKay. Oddly enough, I like you better for it. I always thought you had a stick up your ass, but now maybe not so much. You discovered a Goa-uld in our midst and contained the situation before it got out of hand. Telling everyone at the Luxor it was part of a floor-show was a nice touch, by the way.”

“John’s idea.” Rodney was quick to give credit where due if it helped his case for John. The gleam in O’Neill’s eye said he noted how rare it was for Rodney to credit anyone else but himself.

O’Neill went on. “Despite your indiscretion with the whole tattoo thing, it’s true the whole thing will die down if the two of you are permanently off-world. Are you sure that’s what he wants? Have you asked him?”

“Not since I’ve been sober.” Rodney hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but once they did, he gave a little shrug.

O’Neill seemed actually sympathetic. “Then I suggest you ask again.”

***

Rodney pressed the buzzer to the quarters that John had been assigned to since their arrival at the SGC. Normally, without clearance, they wouldn’t have gotten in at all, but Rodney had used the emergency number to call in the situation with Kavanaugh and that had gotten them on site. After the debriefing, Rodney’s security clearance had been temporarily restored.

What happened next was entirely up to John.

Rodney’s palms were sweaty as he waited for John to let him in.

The door opened. John stood in the entranceway, a wary expression on his face. Somehow reading Rodney, he stepped back to let Rodney into the small quarters without a word.

Rodney pushed past him only to run out of steam before turning to face John. What if he didn’t want to go? No one in their right might would refuse such an opportunity, but Rodney had enough self-awareness to know most of the volunteers for the Pegasus expedition weren’t quite sane.

“The bad news is they won’t reinstate you or give you back your military rank. The good news is they’ll hire you as a civilian consultant. The pay is better and you won’t be subject to the military regulations.”

The door closed behind them, and John crossed over to him without a word, coming to a stop just shy of touching distance.

Rodney swallowed hard and went on. “You might get shit from the military side of things. But this is a joint venture with a civilian leader. Your ATA ability is invaluable. Did you sign the non-disclosure agreement?”

“I almost didn’t.” The drawl curled around Rodney’s heart, both encouraging and frightening him. “But after I saw a guy try to melt your brains and then some kind of giant worm came out of him, I figured I might as well know the rest.”

“And?” Somewhere in the back of Rodney’s mind, a small voice kept repeating _oh please, oh please_.

“What do you want from me, McKay?”

The use of his last name wasn’t a good sign. Unless it was John’s way of putting a little distance between them, of shielding his own heart against hurt.

That had to be it.

Rodney thought carefully about his words. More and more of the night in Vegas had been coming back to him at odd times, and he was almost sure of getting this next bit right. “Run away with me. We’ll love and laugh and have adventures together. It will certainly be dangerous and we’ll probably get killed, but we’ll see things no one on Earth has ever seen before.”

He held out his hand, his mouth curving into his trademark crooked smile. “Besides, the sex will be amazing.”

A long moment passed in which John fixed him with an odd stare, and Rodney was just starting to think _shit, I’ve blown it_ when John moved.

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them, fisting Rodney’s shirt to pull him in for a kiss. If that’s what you could call it. It was more like being overwhelmed by a tidal wave. John’s kiss was both fierce and hungry but instead of drowning in it, muscle memory took over. _This_. Rodney barely had time for coherent thought as tongues clashed and found their rhythm. _I remember this._

The meshing of mouths and molding of bodies sent a cascade of memories flooding into Rodney’s brain. How could he have forgotten how it felt to hold John in his arms? To possess him and be possessed by him?

Simple. It terrified him. No wonder it had been easier to black it all out.

When they parted, Rodney stared into pupils that were certainly just as dilated and wild as his own. “Will you, John Sheppard, come with me? For dangers untold and adventures unnumbered? To have and to hold until death do us part?”

“I wouldn’t count on death parting us.” John kissed the back of Rodney’s hand, his eyes burning with intent. “Just saying.”

“I take that is a yes?”

“Duh. I married you once already, right?”

And so he did.

~fin


End file.
